Perfection in Death
by veiledndarkness
Summary: Detective Bobby Mercer has just been handed a new partner and a peculiar case. Bobby Mercer is not amused. Warning: Very mild slash, AU.


Title: Perfection in Death

Author: veiledndarkness

Pairing: Bobby/Jack

Fandom: Four Brothers

Rating: R for language and violence

Summary: Detective Bobby Mercer has just been handed a new partner and a peculiar case. Bobby Mercer is not amused.

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit is made from this and no harm is intended.

Written for the Spook Me Multi-Fandom Halloween Ficathon 2009

AU - Brothers not raised by Evelyn.

XX

There, placed precisely, laid out in a maddeningly beautiful way, a work of art…perfection in death.

He smiled, unseen, unnoticed in the stillness of the cool night and took a moment to gaze at his work. She would be found in the morning, of that he had no doubt. Perhaps this would make the papers again. He smiled once more, a parody of happiness. He rather liked it when they fussed over him and his work.

X

It was the beeping that pissed him off, really. Shrill, disconnected beeping, like a fucking drill to the brain, the alarm he'd forgotten to shut off the night before. Bobby rolled over and slammed his hand down on the bedside table, grunting when the beeping stopped. He licked his dry lips, his face buried in the pillow as he willed his body to fall back asleep.

The silence lasted for a few mere minutes before the blare of his cell phone began, startling him. "Fucking kid..." he groped for the cell phone in the pocket of his coat, one that he'd left on the floor next to the bed. He flipped it open, eyes still closed and snarled into the phone, "Don't you ever sleep in?"

"On my days off, sure I do. Doesn't everybody?"

"Uh huh, well today is s'posed to be my day off," Bobby growled. "An' that means no callin' me before 12 in the afternoon; we clear on that, rookie?" He sat up, rubbing a hand over his rumpled, sleep messy hair, the brown strands falling over his forehead and into his eyes. He blew at them irritably.

"Crystal clear but I got a case handed to me, so I had to call you. Don't think I intentionally wanted to poke the grumpiest fucker to ever walk the streets of Detroit."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Shut up already. An' bring me a coffee while I get dressed. Callin' on my day off...I ain't the only one on the force who's capable of piecing a case together."

"But you're the best, why else would they put up with your ass?"

"Damn right. Now hurry up with my coffee, kid." With that, Bobby hung up, shaking his head.

Jack Williams had been assigned to work with Bobby three months prior and the damned kid still wouldn't shake loose. He gritted his teeth and got up from his bed, stumbling down the hallway. He'd been assigned partners before, not that any of them lasted more than a few weeks before requesting transfers. Not this kid though. This one took the surliness and rolled with it. Drops of water off his back, it seemed.

Bobby went through the motions of a shower, regretting the third short of whiskey the night before. He rubbed both hands over his face and leaned against the tiled shower wall, drumming up some energy. He dressed with little care after his shower, his eyes wandering to his bed once more.

Christ, he wanted to climb back under the sheets.

X

Jack leaned back against Bobby's car, a tray clasped in one hand and paper bag tucked under his arm. He rested with his eyes closed, his long, slim frame relaxed. At Bobby's approaching footsteps, he opened his eyes and flashed a grin at him. "Wow, that's an impressive level of slobbery, even for you." He handed Bobby a large cup of coffee. "And yes, I added the sugar, yes, I stirred it."

"Wiseass," Bobby took the cup and leveled a mild glare at the all too pleasant boy. "What're you, the fucking fashion police?"

"Your tie," Jack nodded to him. "Shirt's not tucked in, tie's half on, half off."

Bobby took a sip of the strong, sweetened coffee. Perfect, every time the kid made it. "I don't give a shit. Get in the car."

Jack did as ordered, passing Bobby the paper bag when he got in the car. "Here, at least eat something. Black coffee on an empty stomach is bad for you."

"Yes Mom," Bobby drawled. He took the bag and pulled the prepared bagel out. He took a large bite and set his coffee in the cup holder. "What's the info so far?"

"Body found in the alley closest to Grenadine and Third, female, obvious signs of trauma," Jack popped his coffee out of the tray and took a long sip. He looked to Bobby and sighed. "I...it looks like a repeater."

Bobby grunted, "Or a copycat." He started the car and pulled away from the curb, frowning as he did so, "Just what we need, another god damn freak runnin' the streets, cuttin' people up. Makes you wonder what's in the water."

Jack nodded. "Green sent the info for you. He said it's up to you to figure this one out."

"Oh, how very generous," Bobby took another gulp of his coffee. "They fuck up the last three, and then shove it over to me. Remind me to send them a fruit basket."

Jack hid a grin. "Yes sir..."

"Three stiffs, another new one, the guy's bound to start gettin' sloppy."

"What makes you so sure it's a male? It could be a female."

Bobby flicked a glance of disapproval at him. "It's a guy. There's no way this was a chick's doing."

"How do you know?"

He shrugged. "Just do. Shut up now, you're givin' me a headache." Bobby kept his eyes on the snow covered road, his forehead creased with a deep frown. "Intuition will save your narrow ass someday. Think about it, the last one found, she was just over two hundred pounds. You think the average woman could haul two hundred pounds of dead flesh to an alleyway with _nobody_ noticing anything? Not likely."

Jack bit his lip, wincing. "Well...it's always a possibility. The killer could have had help."

"Uh huh, you're reachin' now." Bobby ate the bagel in a few quick bites, the food easing the edges of the tension headache that was building. "Someday when you're a big boy detective, you'll realize that reachin' ain't always the best answer."

"You're a real ass sometimes, Mercer," Jack snapped, irritation flashing in his blue eyes, amusing Bobby. "I'm not some green kid outta the academy yesterday, you know."

"Aw, pipe down, Jack," Bobby smirked and merged with the highway traffic, en route to the scene. "You got a lot to learn, who better to learn from then me, huh? Not even thirty yet and you could proudly say you're learning from the best."

"Learnin' how to be a prick," Jack muttered. He stayed silent for a moment or so before the annoyance melted away from his face. "But don't you think it's possible that it might not be a guy?"

Bobby drummed his fingers along his steering wheel. "Anything's possible," he admitted. "But I'm still right. I bet you any money he's some sort of delusional freak who's frustrated by his attempts to be noticed in a city teeming with people. So one day, he snaps, little control he's got, pfft, gone in a second. And now, now he's goin' after people, making big scenes, look at me, look what I've created."

Jack nodded, absorbing Bobby's words eagerly. "Like...like art? Beauty in death?"

Bobby's lips curved in a small smile. "Bingo, kid. Well he's got attention now. Fucker probably jerks off to the news reports."

"Jesus, Bobby..."

He chuckled and shook his head. "You love it."

X

"Ah man," Jack turned away, cheeks pale. He covered his mouth with one hand, staring at the dirty brick wall.

Bobby ignored him, focused entirely on the body. He crouched down a bit, dark brown eyes taking in the details, the way the corpse had been positioned, the marks covering the skin, the wounds...He scribbled in his pocket notebook, his words an unintelligible scrawl on the lines. Bobby pushed the notepad into his coat pocket and pulled a pair of plastic gloves out. He snapped them on, crouching once more in the slushy snow.

"Pay attention. Over here, Williams, now."

Jack took a deep breath and turned back to face Bobby and the dead girl. "So, you still say copy cat?" he managed to say, willing his stomach not to rebel.

"Nah," Bobby held a finger over the girl's arm, pointing to a stain of discoloration. "Puncture wound. No other tracks. This one wasn't a junkie. Still sedating them, guess he doesn't like a fight. Initially," he added with a dark scowl. He looked the body over, matching the wounds to the ones from previous bodies.

He let out a muted, tired sigh and stood up, peeling the gloves off. "No i.d. on her, No clear signs of struggle, 'cept for the needle mark. Get her loaded into the meat wagon, have Camille take a look over her, see what she says." He dug in his left side pocket and pulled out a package of cigarettes. He lit one and inhaled deeply, walking away from the alley.

Jack trotted along behind him, still pale. "God, no matter how many I see, it never gets any easier."

"Better you learn that now, Jackie boy," Bobby murmured, his cigarette clamped between his lips. "Focus on what we saw just now. Whatcha thinkin'?"

"Um...well she was positioned like the others, arranged on her side in a suggestive manner..."

"Come hither ain't sexy when she's maggot feed."

"Fuck, don't say stuff like that. That's...so revolting."

Bobby chuckled dryly. "Go on, rookie, what else?"

"Naked, injection mark in the crook of her elbow, fingerprint bruises near her neck, bruising along her sides and thighs, cuts along her chest, and....and..."

"And parts of her missing," Bobby added. "Thinkin' he's got a hard on for skin."

Jack swallowed and nodded, "Yeah, trophies?"

Bobby flicked his cigarette and exhaled a plume of gray smoke. "Possibly, he could be using the parts as trophies; he could be using that as a calling card. Or maybe he's just really that fucked up. Possible cannibalism..."

Jack looked positively queasy. "Ugh, I'm never eating meat again, I swear."

"Pussy."

X

Camille shook her head when she saw Bobby striding down the hallway towards her. "Mercer, you're the only one I know who can't follow rules and still has a job like yours," she glared at him, dark eyes flashing, and turned away, her white lab coat flaring with the movement.

"Rules?" Jack looked to Bobby, perplexed.

"There's a sign above your heads, boys, try reading it," Camille snapped.

Bobby made a show of snuffing his cigarette out in the metal sink nearby. "Yeah, fucking yeah, you nag," he said, nodding to the large 'No Smoking' sign above Jack's head. "I'm traumatized from seein' corpses, I need my vices, woman."

"Pfft," Camille rolled her eyes. "You're full of shit. Step aside," she said, tugging a pair of clean medical gloves on.

"Whatcha got on her?"

Camille stepped up to the table and lifted the sheet back to the girl's shoulders. Jack winced. Bobby propelled Jack closer to the table, a smirk firmly in place.

"Injection in the arms, I'm supposing that the toxicology exams will come back with traces of a sedative." Camille pointed to the bruising on the girl's neck. "Left a clear set of shaped bruises on the skin, we got a sample and sent it to be screened. Interesting thing is that some of the bruising is very new. I'd say she's still fresh, few hours old maybe."

Bobby nodded once, his face blank, "Uh huh, sexually this time?"

"No, no signs of forced or consensual sex in the last forty-eight to seventy two hours. No traces, no tears, and no bruising."

Jack looked to the girl's face, his forehead furrowed. "She looks so young."

"Approximately nineteen or so," Camille re-covered the girl and turned away, showing Bobby the notes she'd taken.

"What about the bruising on her thighs?" Bobby asked.

"Offhand, I'd say she struggled while tied down, fighting the restraints maybe. The pattern to the bruising is strange, but I'd say definitely not by someone's hands or legs."

Bobby grunted and pulled out his notebook. He jotted something quickly and stuffed it back inside his coat. "Send me the info for her, the results, yeah?"

Camille nodded. "Mhm, and the two fingers on the left that were removed, those were done after death, very neatly, with precision. Think we got a smarter killer here."

"Terrific," Bobby muttered. "Precision like how? Hot blade?"

"There's no clotting, no hints of healing to the spots, it couldn't have been done before death," Camille looked the cloth draped body over. "Four teeth are missing as well. The victim seems to have lost a fair amount of blood, though it was done carefully."

Bobby lifted his head, staring at Camille. "Teeth? Jesus....What about the blood loss? How deep are the cuts?"

Camille nodded again. "Yeah, small superficial cuts in and around her breasts, I think a vein was hit for this amount of loss. Offhand, I'd say strangulation, but I'm waiting to hear back on the results. Anything else, boys? I got a stack of paperwork waiting for me."

"S' fine, thanks Camille," Bobby looked to Jack. "C'mon kid."

Jack glanced back at the table, a hint of distress to his eyes before he turned and followed dutifully after Bobby. He waited until they were back in Bobby's car and let a muted sigh out. "That is so fucked up."

"Welcome to the city," Bobby mumbled around an unlit cigarette. "We got a real piece of work with this. If you're gonna wimp out on me, say it now an' I'll do the transfer for ya."

"I didn't say that!" Jack protested hotly, his face flushed. "I...I'm fine, ok?"

Bobby spared him a quick glance. "You better not barf in my car, kid. I'll make you clean it, you can bet on that."

"Are you always this pleasant?"

Bobby smiled and raised one eyebrow at him. "Yeah, actually. You hungry? I'm hungry. Lunch, then we'll hit the station."

"You're one sick motherfucker, Mercer," Jack groaned.

X

The piles of paperwork on the desk threatened to topple over with each slam of the drawers, Bobby's muttered swears and curses clear above the din of office noises around them. He looked up and pointed to the door. "Williams, close that fucking door. I can't think with all that noise!"

Jack shut the door with one hand. He dropped onto the too small couch that was crammed in the corner of the crowded office and closed his eyes. "What're you looking for?"

"My files," Bobby slammed another drawer and reached for his filing cabinet.

"If you would just let me re-organize all that shit..."

Bobby glared at him, unseen from the clutter on his desk. "No one touches my files."

Jack stifled a laugh. "Obviously."

"Here, smartass, make yourself useful and read through this," Bobby tossed a file folder to him, the papers landing on his lap.

"Nice shot," Jack said. He opened the file and skimmed the top page, his smile fading away as he read. "Man, this is nasty, three all the same and still nothin' to go on."

Bobby opened the top drawer to his cabinet and pulled several files seemingly at random. "I got a hunch that this guy isn't some original, he's a wannabe." He sat down in his chair, the metal creaking. "Taking teeth as well as fingers, that's weird shit. I got this file from Bernicks a few years ago after he retired. Passed some shit on to me."

"Why?"

Bobby shrugged. "He was a good guy. Real hardass but good, y' know? Worked with him a few times over the years and he had a way of figurin' out stuff that no one else could." He flipped through the file and then turned it around to face Jack. "See this here?"

Jack slipped off the couch and leaned over. The picture was faded, the edges yellowing, and the black and white coloring did little to reduce the gruesomeness of it all. "Damn..."

"You're too young to remember this shit, but Bernicks ran the investigation on the cases. Ol' Lewis Delcour had a thing for the not so pretty girls in the sixties. He liked to take their teeth and fingers and make himself some memorabilia, like necklaces. Final total of confirmed deaths was somewhere around five deaths, but Bernicks knew it was higher. He could only pin five for sure on Delcour." Bobby tapped another picture. "Delcour died in prison three months after he got in. Seems he took a likin' to a girl that was the daughter of an inmate. Guess who caught wind of that?"

Jack nodded. "Kinda had that coming, I think, I mean, everybody is someone's kid, Bobby."

Bobby gave him a slight smile. "Don't go waxin' sentimental on me. This business'll spit you back out if you go cryin' over every dead person. Ok, so point I'm makin', is Mr. I Need Attention is copying the old murders, if you glance this over, but he's added to it. Delcour never took blood from the victims, never drained them, and he sure as shit never posed them at specific spots either."

"And you said it wasn't a copycat?" Jack grinned.

"Shut up. I meant someone copyin' the new guy and you know that, wise ass." Bobby closed the folder and dropped it on his desk. "So....now what?" he asked.

Jack ran a hand over his stylishly messy hair, disrupting the design of it. Bobby bit down on the inside of his cheek. The kid was far too tempting, he thought, and bit down harder. Fucking a partner wasn't the best of ideas. Even if said partner was the sinfully good looking young boy before him.

"Um...We check the info on the deaths before this girl, try to get an i.d. on her," Jack chewed his lower lip for a moment, the tip of his pink tongue swiping over the edge of his lip. "Compare the info to the Delcour cases?"

Bobby nodded with an actual smile that curved his lips. Jack grinned back at him. "Am I close?"

"Perfect," Bobby murmured.

X

A flash of brightness, color stark against the white background, crimson blooming flowers, distorted by patterns...

He dipped his fingers in the warm vat, twirling the liquid, fat droplets falling from his fingertips to the dirty floor below. He tilted his head, muffled cries echoing, but now, now the canvas before him is waiting, his creations awaiting life, she can wait, not her, not now while he's _creating_.

He dragged his hand over the stretched sheet and laughed. They're a part of him, he has their lives.

X

Jack dodged and shifted his body as he moved through the crowds the next day, a folder tucked close to his chest. He exhaled loudly, sliding into Bobby's office. "This is nuts, I've never seen a station so disorganized."

"Its organized chaos, kid," Bobby said without looking up from his paperwork. "Perk up buttercup, the day's still young. Whatcha got for me?"

"I got a tentative i.d. on the fourth victim and the id's on two previous. I cross checked the files on the Delcour cases and looked for the connections," Jack said excitedly, handing the folder off to Bobby. "You're never gonna believe this."

"Lemme guess, they're connected."

"You're so adorably jaded," Jack laughed and flopped down on Bobby's couch, one hand smoothing his hair back. "Seriously though," he hastened to add upon seeing Bobby's scowl, "Delcour worked in museums prior to his arrest. He was a huge art geek."

"And? Bobby thumbed through the file, the corners of his lips quirking in a faint smile.

Jack sat up impatiently. "And...Don't you see? The guy, the new one, I'll bet you any money he's an art geek too. I mean, really, who else would go to the trouble of placing the bodies in such specific ways, if not to call attention to whatever means a lot to him?"

Bobby sat back in his chair, nodding slowly. "I think you might be right. Frustrated artists and mail men, sometimes they snap."

"What if this guy wants to be caught, what if he wants us to figure out the art connection. Delcour understood death and art."

"But he only took the ugly broads," Bobby mused.

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," Jack grinned, ducking the pen that was thrown in his direction.

Bobby tapped the folder with one finger, his eyes narrowed. "Beauty as in, creating somethin' beautiful out of something people fear, things that are ugly, like death. We fear death, we're afraid of it....we spend how much time gettin' gussied up before the funeral with the mortician? Ugliness in death, beauty in death…"

Jack nodded. "So, maybe this guy isn't a cannibal?" he asked hopefully.

"Or maybe he's just a really well educated cannibal who thinks he's some kind of art snob. Hannibal Lector, in the flesh," Bobby raised his eyebrows, smirking.

"That was so lame."

X

"Ok, so maybe you were right," Jack grumbled, three days later. He took a long drink from his beer and sat back in the booth seat, licking the foam from his lips. "But you're still an ass."

Bobby lifted his mug of beer and chuckled. "Learn from the master, young one. If I say it ain't right, you can take that to the bank. Delcour had nothin' on this guy, because Delcour wasn't tryin' to send a message."

"Yeah well...." Jack blew out a breath, irritated. "This message crap is damned frustrating. None of the victims are even remotely connected to each other. Fingerprints don't match any of the database files and no one from any of the girls' families comes up as suspicious! Did he just randomly pick them off the street?"

"Maybe..." Bobby drained the last of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, "Gotta find him first to ask those ever so important questions. "

"What about the art connection? We can't just bust into every art museum in town, can we? 'Oh hey, by the way, do any of you have a fetish for teeth and fingers, and a burning love of art?' y' know, something like that?"

Bobby laughed then, a short, dry laugh. "Sure we can. Least we can do is bang on a few doors an' see what happens, right? Where's your sense of adventure?"

"It's a close second to my desire to live through this assignment," Jack gulped down the rest of his beer and shook his head. "Alright...let's do this, but you owe me if I get taken down."

"No worries, I got your back, Jackie boy," he grinned.

"Hittin' on those young ones only brings you trouble, Mercer," a man said, sliding into the booth as he spoke, "especially if he's your partner."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Jack Williams, meet the ever clever Angel Gibson. Angel, this is Jack, my latest victim, err, partner."

"What'd you do to get stuck with this excuse for a rent a cop?" Angel asked, quirking a thumb in Bobby's direction.

"Fuck you."

"Fuck yourself, you don't got the necessary parts to hold my interest, Mercer," Angel dropped a wink at Jack, who blushed faintly. "I'm all for the ladies, call me a playboy, y'all won't be far off."

Bobby wrinkled his nose. "You still slobberin' after the wicked witch of Detroit?"

"Hey, that's my girl, man, she's...ok, so she's kinda screechy, but stacked, baby, stacked like mad."

Jack bit his lip, trying not to laugh, "Nice to meet you, Angel." He offered his hand, Angel's strong fingers gripping his hard. "And frankly, I'm not sure who I pissed off to end up with him, but it's all good. I like workin' with Bobby."

Angel laughed and shook his head. "Crazy, crazy white boy, you'll regret it. You better start kissin' bureaucratic ass, that way you can escape him a lil' faster."

"Don't mind me, just the guy workin' a case," Bobby snapped. "I'll leave you two ladies to talk amongst yourselves while the real detectives solve murders." He pushed at Angel and slipped out of the booth, his mouth turned down in a deep frown.

"Aw don't get your panties in a twist, Mercer," Angel held up his hands. "C'mon, I got somethin' for you anyway."

Bobby sat down with a grunt. "Better be good. I could haul your ass in strictly for my amusement, you know."

Angel grinned. "Like to see you do it, y'all ain't got nothing on me, boys."

Jack listened to them banter, amused by Bobby's grumblings. "So what, you're an informant? Not exactly low-profile, are you?"

"I wouldn't call myself an informant. I'm a guy who knows things, is all. I hear shit, I see shit, I tell him and make a few bucks," Angel shrugged. "And if I need some help..."

"He shows up at my door," Bobby said sourly.

"Gotcha," Jack nodded, "S' always good to know somebody who knows things."

Bobby tapped his fingers impatiently on the table top. "Get on with it, Gibson. Whatcha got?"

Angel held up one hand, rubbing his fingers together. "Pay up."

"Speak, then I'll pay," he snapped, glaring at Angel.

"Alright, alright, relax man, you'll live longer," Angel quirked a crooked, bright grin at Jack. "Drama queen..."

Bobby glared at him again. "Now..."

Angel sighed. "Sweet Jesus...Anyways, I got to headin' down to the pub crawl on Grenadine, and I got to talkin' with one of the rummies that hangs out an' around there, y' know, if it ain't too cold. Killin' time till the soup kitchen opens early."

Bobby nodded, his annoyance thinly concealed. "And...?"

"And he's tellin' me 'bout the girl that you boys hauled away, lil' thing that got herself offed in the alleyway..."

"He didn't do it there," Jack interrupted. "No way he did it out in the open."

Angel stared at him. Bobby pointed at Jack. "Zip it, sweetheart, when I want your theories, I'll ask for 'em. Go on, Gibson, and hurry up."

Jack fumed silently for a moment before swallowing his anger and nodding, "Yeah."

"So he gets to tellin' me that him and his buddy saw the girl get dumped, few hours before y'all got the buzz to head down."

Bobby glanced at him abruptly. "Why the fuck didn't they say anything before??"

Angel shrugged with one shoulder. "Dunno. Bet they thought the cops would be all suspicious and shit. So they dummied up and didn't say one peep."

"Did any of them get a good look at the person who dumped the body?"

"Nah, not really," Angel gestured with his hand. "Not as tall as you, Jackie poo, but y' know, taller than the munchkin 'side me."

Bobby's nostrils flared. "Gibson, no one but your bitch will miss you if you suddenly vanish," he hissed.

Angel laughed, nudging Bobby with his arm. "Angry little man, that's what you are."

Jack coughed, covering a snort of laughter. "Uh...." he looked to Bobby and then away, grinning, "So, taller than him, but shorter than me? Anything else like facial or clothing? Something...?"

"Black coat, black hat, they didn't see too much. Boy didn't wanna be seen, I don't think," Angel held out his hand expectantly.

"That's all?" Bobby snapped. "Some guy who's average height with a black coat an' hat? That's half the fuckin' city, right there!"

"Maybe some bills will help jog my poor memory."

Bobby dug out his wallet and tugged a twenty loose. He held it out. "Which direction did Mr. Average head?"

Angel snagged the bill and tucked it into his pocket. He rubbed a hand over his smooth scalp, his face solemn. "Headed towards Third, they think. Walked slowly, he wasn't in no hurry, that cat wanted people to see what he did. Rummies are hidin' now. They think he's gonna come after him."

"Pfft, sure he will." Bobby pointed to Jack. "Up, kid, we got some work to do."

Jack slid out of the booth with a sigh and dropped a few bills on the table to cover the drinks. "Lemme scratch the plans...we run up and down Third and then the art galleries in town?"

"Fuckin' right."

Jack grimaced and followed after him, resigned to Bobby's methods.

X

After six hours, Bobby leaned against a brick wall, lighting a cigarette. He offered the pack to Jack, nodding. "Chin up, Jackie. He's close by, I can smell it."

Jack took one cigarette from the package and lit it, his thumb sliding over the lighter smoothly. "That's not what I smell," he nodded pointedly at the overflowing garbage bin nearby, half the container covered with snow.

"Shut up. Remember that handy dandy thing I mentioned before? Intuition?"

Jack inhaled deeply on the cigarette before nodding. He exhaled, letting the smoke curl away from them, "Mhm."

"Well my intuition is pointin' us to the museum down the street," Bobby flicked his cigarette and squinted into the distance. "Biggest one around, easier to blend in when you're nobody."

"Do you always wing it like this?"

Bobby glanced at Jack and smiled a bit. "Only when I know I'm right. An' I'm always right, Jack."

Jack took another drag. "Uh huh, lead the way, Mercer. They don't call you the mauler for nothin', I guess."

"Shut up an' learn from the master," Bobby slipped away from the wall. "Let's go."

Bobby strode down the sidewalk, the snow gritty and slushy below their boots. He looked up at the modest sized building and scanned it with suspicious eyes. "You ever been in here before?"

"Nope. Art's not my thing." Jack stubbed his cigarette out and exhaled, "More into music."

"You got guitar fingernails, guitar hands," Bobby murmured absently as he walked up the steps to the front door.

"What?"

"Long nails," Bobby pushed the door open, striding inside as though he owned the place.

Jack stared after him. "They aren't _that _long."

X

Bobby pored over his files late that night. He rubbed one hand over his tired eyes, his bleary gaze landing on the couch that Jack had claimed as his own from the moment he'd been assigned to work with Bobby. Jack lay on the couch, his long legs tucked up under himself, his head on the arm rest, a pile of papers spread out across his lap. He'd fallen asleep some time ago, Bobby wasn't sure when, and he made soft sighs every now and then, strands of rumpled hair covering his forehead.

It wasn't fair to keep the kid there so late, Bobby thought to himself, a frown beginning to form. He sighed and rubbed his eyes again, willing his body to stay awake. He picked up his Styrofoam coffee cup and took a sip, wincing at the cold, sour taste.

"Jesus..." he muttered. He pushed the cup away. No one but Jack ever made his coffee the way he liked it.

Bobby leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He rubbed at his temples, sorting through the scant information they had to go on. He mentally ticked each item off, annoyed by the lack of info. The vague descriptions of the man with the fourth victim, the blatant rip offs of Delcour's murders, the stylistic way each body was arranged, their features distorted and awkward in the pale snow...

"Blood....drained the blood," he whispered. "Why? Think he's a fucking vampire or somethin? Cannibal? Run of the mill maniac?"

He flipped one file open and paged through the autopsy reports for each victim. He thumbed through the pages, reading and re-reading the information typed there. "Drained blood...blood red," he said, a thought occurring to him finally.

None of the workers listed at the museum matched the descriptions of their possible killer. Bobby set the file down, his brain sorting the info at a furious rate. "He's a wanna be, a wants to be, but never was. Blood red paint...Jesus, fuck!"

Jack shifted on the couch, startled by the sudden shout. "Bobby?" he mumbled sleepily, "S' a matter?"

"Get up, Jack," Bobby tossed the file to the side and reached for his notepad. "C'mere."

Jack groaned and sat up, his papers falling to the ground. "Shit..." he shuffled over to Bobby, stretching as he did so.

"What?" he leaned in against Bobby, yawning widely.

"He drains the blood for a reason," Bobby set out the pictures of each victim across his desktop blotter, lining them up neatly. "He's not a cannibal, he's an artist, or at least he thinks he is. He's making art."

Jack blinked once, then again. "Don't follow."

Bobby jabbed his finger at the pictures. "He's using their blood! The teeth and fingers thing is just to fuck with us. Make us think we're lookin' for another Delcour."

Jack wrinkled his nose up in disgust. "Fuck...You sure?"

"Does a bear shit in the woods?" Bobby sat back in his chair, the metal creaking. "He's a fucking nut, but I swear, I know this is it, I guarantee it."

Jack sat on the edge of the desk, covering another yawn, "But why?"

Bobby shrugged. "No clue but I bet he does it cause in his nutso mind, it makes sense."

"Ok great, but now what?" Jack eyed him. "How do you pick a guy like this out of a crowd?"

Bobby was silent for several minutes. He picked up a pen, fiddling with it. "When we were at the museum, talkin' to the manager..."

"You mean the guy you bullied for an hour?"

Bobby flicked a grin at him. "Uh huh, he's got footage tapes from the corridors. You up for a movie?"

"I'll bring the popcorn," Jack smiled, the warmth in his face catching Bobby off guard. "Just think, my first date with you is over murderers."

Bobby stood up and reached out, running his hand along Jack's hair for just a moment. "It ain't a date if there's no kiss at the end," he said, his lips twitching into an almost smile. "Get your stuff, kid."

X

Jack kept up a steady stream of yawns as they watched through the surveillance tapes from the last few weeks. He rubbed his eyes and wished for the hundredth time that he'd passed on the case. This one was bound to drive him nuts. He cracked his back with a long stretch and looked to Bobby, "How many more to go through?"

"Few," Bobby kept his eyes on the television screen, absorbed in the details from the black and white footage. He tapped the screen with his pen. "This guy here, he look a little weird to you?"

Jack studied the screen. "He's like everyone else, looking at the painting."

"Abstract your specialty?" Bobby cracked, grinning then. "You even know what you're lookin' at?"

"No," Jack admitted. He smiled sheepishly at Bobby. "Bet you know."

"Doesn't matter," Bobby bluffed, pointing to the man. He paused the tape and nodded. "You know what I see?"

"Nope."

Bobby tapped the screen. "I see a guy so non-descript that he catches my attention. I see a guy wearin' a long black coat and hat."

Jack's mouth fell open. "Shit..."

"Mhm. He's in a few of these tapes. Betcha he's hidin' some secrets."

"Yeah?"

Bobby winked at him. "Hell yeah, I think so. Now we're gettin' somewhere."

X

It was a blur, a crazy blur of detail and info and Bobby disregarding many of the standard rules. Jack followed along as best he could, disoriented by Bobby's random ramblings over how to find their suspect and where they might end up.

Sooner than he expected, Bobby had dragged Jack to a building in the industrial district, an area full of abandoned buildings and forgotten warehouses. Jack shivered in the chill wind, his footsteps following Bobby's. He licked his lips and ducked his head to the wind.

Bobby crept up to the building, his eyes narrowed, and his scowl oddly amusing to Jack. He looked like a common thug rather than a detective. He could see it so clearly; a Bobby that would shoot first and ask questions later, one who had spent more time in jail than out. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep the snickers back.

"Bobby...This is crazy, man, we don't even have any backup," Jack whispered.

"So?" Bobby ran his gloved hand along the front door to one warehouse. He pushed the door open, the rusty hinges squealing. "You gonna chicken out on me? How's that gonna look on your report, huh?"

Jack sighed. He could feel the weight of his gun pressing against his side, secure in the holster. "I'm just saying..."

"And I'm tellin' you this is it," he hissed fiercely. "Now shut up an' follow me, got it?"

Jack nodded, following closer to him. The door swung open a few more inches and Bobby slipped inside, his gun tucked into the curve of his palm. He gestured to Jack. "C'mon."

Jack stepped past the door, shivering when the door slammed behind him. The inside of the warehouse was just as cold as the frigid air outside. He rubbed his gloved hands together, teeth chattering. Bobby flicked his flashlight on, moving the white spot of light around, dust motes floating in the air, the cracked windows above them long since covered with dirt and grime.

"You sure this is the right address?" Jack whispered, unfazed by the dirty look from Bobby.

"Shut up." He pointed the beam of light across the room, over the crates and metal poles nearby, illuminating the footprints in the dust. "Need a better answer, Jackie?"

Jack shook his head. He sniffed and then squeezed quietly into his arm. "Damned dust..."

Bobby crossed the room on near silent footsteps. He flicked his flashlight off, plunging the area into dimness once more. He tilted his head, eyes partly closed. "You hear that?"

Jack made his way over, leaning in close with Bobby. He held his breath for a moment, straining his ears. "No?"

"He's whistling," Bobby seemed amused, "Freak." He pocketed his flashlight and thumbed his gun, smiling then. "And if I ain't mistaken, he's hummin' Vivaldi. Real class act, our man is."

Jack smiled a little. "You and your damn jokes, I swear, Bobby..."

"You love me," Bobby smirked and grabbed Jack's coat, tugging him close. "Tell you what, when we get out of this, I'll buy you dinner."

"I don't put out on the first date, Mercer," Jack grinned. "You keep that in mind."

Bobby hesitated a second. With Jack so near, he could easily close the distance...He mentally shook his head, clearing the thoughts out, "Gotcha."

He let go of him and turned away, his cheeks flushed. "Hummin' must be comin' from somewhere close by..."

Jack moved past Bobby, his arm brushing along the wall, "Wouldn't it be so cool if there was like a secret lever?" he patted his hand on the wall with an impish grin, "Like in a science fiction novel?"

"Oh yeah, I can see it now, 'A Night for Screaming', uh huh," Bobby said dryly. "Now stop fucking..."

Jack paused, his fingers pressing down on a button, "No way..." he breathed as the wall slid back, revealing a door shaped like the paneling. Jack grinned, "Told ya."

Bobby snorted. "Lucky guess, rookie." He pushed at the door, tugging it back along the frame. "Got anymore one liners?"

"Nope," Jack took his gun out and palmed it, nervous sweat gathering along his hairline. "Lead the way, Mercer."

Bobby strode ahead of him, in the darkness, walking towards the thin streams of light that were now filling the space around them. The light grew brighter, a half wall dividing the room into two sections. In one section that they could see, a man sat, hunched over at a long desk, his back to them.

He hummed in the otherwise silent room, his fingers moving along the desk rhythmically. "Why good evening, detectives," he said abruptly, his fingers stilling for a moment. "The two of you bickering, your voices do carry. Were you aware of that?"

Bobby slowed down, his gun ready if needed. "You're not hiding very well. I kinda expected more from someone who thinks so damned highly of himself, Edwin Brown."

The man chuckled, his voice a dry rasp. "Indeed, I'm hiding in plain sight, as it were. Tell me, what do you know of art?"

"Art, as in paintings and sculptures, shit like that?" Bobby took a few careful steps closer.

"Mm, I suspected as much." Edwin paused, one finger lifting up. "Stay where you are, gentlemen. It's quite rude to step uninvited into an artist's space."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Forgive me," he drawled.

Edwin shifted on his chair, turning to face them. He blinked once and then several times more. "Quite the cowboy, aren't you? You've burst into my studio, guns blazing, and no backup by the looks of it, and why look, you even have a sidekick, how very adorable. He looks a might young for this line of work if I do say so."

Jack frowned. "Hey! I'm right here, y' know?"

"Ignore him!" Bobby barked at Jack without looking at him. "You, you know why we're here. I got a warrant for you, under a shit load of suspicion, so cut the crap and let's get this over with, huh? I got plans tonight that don't involve you."

Edwin slowly turned away, chuckling once more. "So sorry, Mr...My apologies, I didn't get your name. Be a sport and tell me?"

"Detective Bobby Mercer," Jack chimed in.

"Thanks," Bobby snapped. "Shut up and stay back, you damn fool."

The man picked up a paintbrush from his desk, dark redness dripping from it, "A pleasure, Detective Mercer." He moved back to face them and stood, each movement slow, his face blank, eerily non-descript. "You've found my art I believe. Those who tried before you, they were not so clever."

"Or maybe they just didn't try hard enough."

"Perhaps," he nodded. "Or perhaps they were not meant to find me as you so eagerly did. You must be curious about my work. Go on now, ask your questions." He strolled over to a large white canvas a few feet away and dragged his paintbrush over it, the thick redness smearing over the white space.

Jack bit his lip, unnerved by the whole situation. "That doesn't look like any paint I've ever seen..."

"Ah yes, young one, it's not paint, not in the traditional sense. It's a part of them, my lovely girls."

Bobby made a sound of disgust. "Blood...I fucking knew it. You're disgusting, man, seriously."

"It's merely repulsive to the uneducated. Blood is an excellent base for painting." Edwin smiled, his smile fragmented. He whirled around and pointed at them, "My work, and my sole reason for living. You want to stop me. Yes, yes you do, you'll take me away and my work will go unfinished! I can't allow that detective."

"Only murderers like you would rationalize deaths like this," Bobby raised his gun. "Don't make a scene."

"Death...Death?" Edwin threw his paintbrush to the ground, angrily pacing back and forth to his desk. He sat on the stool and pointed to the canvas at his side. "Death used to be a glorious thing. And now...now death, in many means, it's no longer memorable. It's lost in the flash and glitz of the slick Hollywood movies, unnoticed in the numbness that consumes humanity. And each death is a moment's notice, a mere blip on the radar, unregarded and without value," he looked up from his work table, blood crusted along each finger, his eyes wild, his words spoken with great fever and quiet belief.

"These deaths, each death is a thing of beauty, you see," he gestured to the long wall behind them again, to the canvasses that were propped against it. "I took from them and gave them what they could never see. I took the ugliness of life and immortalized them! They live forever now, their blood coats my work, my greatest triumphs, and this...this has been my sole reason, for I'm only here to create and exist within beauty."

Bobby kept a steady grip on his gun, his thumb pressed over the safety. "You know you're batshit crazy, right?"

He sniffed and turned away. "Bah, I've wasted my words on you. Heathens, the lot of your type, you see nothing in art."

"I see a lot of paint an' fucked up images, but oddly enough, no blood paintings. Don't think your idea's gonna go over so well, being that your choice of medium is a little nasty."

Edwin moved fast, a glint in the air as warning before the knife flew, landing below Jack's shoulder. Jack cried out and clasped a hand to his chest, blood trickling in small droplets when he tugged it loose. Bobby let out a snarl of rage, his finger tugging the trigger back. Edwin slammed back into his worktable, gasping as the bullet pierced his arm.

"Next shot won't be so neat," Bobby grabbed his cuffs and spun Edwin around, cuffing him and smirking at the howls of pain from the man when he moved his wounded arm. "Fucker..."

Jack pressed his fingers to the wound, shaking, "I w-warned you...if I got hurt...." he muttered, face pale.

Bobby offered him a tight smile. "I'll make it up to you. Hang in there, kid," he said with a hint of panic to his voice as he called for backup. "C'mon, just hang in there, ok? Jack....Jack?!"

X

"Need I even mention how damned stupid that plan was? I swear, sometimes I think for as smart as you are, you just don't like usin' your head, Bobby!" Jeremiah Smith slammed a Styrofoam coffee cup down on the table in the cafeteria, dark coffee slopping over the side. "Your partner, that poor kid, ends up knifed because ol' Bobby Mercer had himself a plan!"

Bobby grunted and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Hospital chairs...he thought with a sigh, never comfy. "Spare me the lecture, I know, ok, boss? I know and..." he exhaled loudly. "I know."

"Oh you know alright, you know he could have died, right?" Jeremiah flicked the lid off his cup and took a long swallow. "Like mud, I swear it," he muttered. "My point is that you are damn, damn lucky you have me protecting your foolish ass!"

Bobby toyed with his coffee cup. "Clearly…The guy caught me off guard. Not a good excuse, I know, but shit, Jerry, I just..."

"Didn't think," Jeremiah finished for him.

"...Yeah."

"Uh huh, well even luckier for you, he's gonna be ok. Fools, the pair of you…no backup, no plan, wingin' it Mercer style, ain't that right?"

Bobby cracked a grin. "Mercer style is how we do it. I got the bad guy, right? He's probably using his own blood to paint as we speak."

Jerry rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Ramblin' and raving about his Divine Passion. You can almost hear the capitals in his words. Did you know he was once this university professor? He majored in in art. One day, Mr. Brown lost it and was excused from his duties as a professor."

"Told ya he was an art freak, a maniac if you will," Bobby said, smiling smugly. "I can smell them a mile away."

"I can smell you. Go home an' shower. I'll sit with Jack till he's released."

"Fuck you."

"No thanks," Jerry flashed a bright grin at him. "I got myself a date with my lady friend. You know her? Camille down in the slabs? She's a firecracker under that stiff facade, I know it."

"Christ..." Bobby wrinkled his nose. "Fine, I'm goin'. Tell him I'll be back to get him."

"Want me to give 'im a little kiss for you too?" Jerry called.

Bobby stuck his middle finger up over his shoulder as he walked away.

Jerry drained the cup of coffee, amused. Bobby Mercer could be so transparent at times.

X

"Will you stop fussing for five seconds?!" Jack huffed, exasperated. "I'm fine, so stop babying me."

"Shut the fuck up," Bobby scolded him. "You need your meds."

Jack grumbled fiercely under his breath. "They're in my coat. Can we go now?"

"Depends on you, you need to say goodbye to all the nurses you flirted with while here?"

Jack gave him a crooked grin. "Jealous?"

"Pfft."

He reached over, tugging on Bobby's long jacket. "You are so jealous, and cute in that offbeat kinda way."

"Grown men aren't cute," Bobby growled.

Jack laughed a bit, tugging him closer. "Shut up and kiss me. You owe me at least that. I took a knife for you."

Bobby felt his cheeks redden and reached up, pressing his mouth to Jack's, if only to shut him up. He closed his eyes, enjoying the sweet kiss.

"You still owe me dinner," Jack whispered when the kiss ended, the pair of them flushed.

"Smartass," Bobby kissed him again.

"You love it," Jack grinned.

XX


End file.
